Maniacal

Manic days have me feeling
crazed.
Similar to feeling high off of caffeine
but unable to get away.
A soundless ringing in my head to do something,
do anything,
lose myself in something.
Insert a Mad Hatter reference.
As for my preference,
I think I would choose
the dips,
the lows,
the crying for who knows
and not this obsessive static in my head
my best escape is bed
I pick at my face
almost like I could get my brain to escape,
craving
tranquility
but it’s beyond my ability.

Salvageable

I’ve realized Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is a great analogy of my struggle. I fight to keep from turning, from losing myself for good. My energy, all the effort it takes to resist. How can you fight from becoming something else when the effort itself is driving you towards it? I’m exhausted trying to find a cure, meanwhile I am becoming not me, losing what makes me me. If a final transformation happens, I won’t be me. I’ll be gone. So what self-destruction I inflict is to get away from myself. It means I gave in, I couldn’t fight anymore. The closer I come to understanding, the closer it seems I will become it, the more it makes sense. How easy it would be to let the rock roll back and end me? To let myself be whittled away and stop trying to rebuild? Can I be salvaged?

Weathered

Do you wage war against the salty sea?
When it savagely licks your bow,
do you blame the gods you cannot see?
Yelling you will not cow.

Or when navigating waves of hits,
do you laugh when they miss?
The chaos is not a new friend.
Not even if it is your end.

Perhaps you bark a bitter laugh
hearing that others have never seen worse?
Glaring at their easy path,
Do you look downcast and mumble a curse?

Optionally, battle-weary through your trudge
you offer solidarity instead of judge
with wont for what cannot be controlled;
the treasured calm, the reckoned rolls, the inexorable tumolt

Wanderer

I wander my wasteland where wells of water gush forth life.
Where drops of water even offer respite.
Air of despair, dust of self despite;
escape is nowhere in sight.
Mirages appear, although in here they are real,
and are a peer
and a step
into what should be here.

Day by day

I’ve harvested each moment of productivity, competency, happiness, worthiness; though my hands are weak I squeeze what nectar I can to sip on for the immediate days while I still scavenge on the way. That is me taking it day by day.

typical

I’m at that point where I’m annoyingly self-aware, self-deprecating, too full of everything that has been said before and will be said again by anyone that will feel this way. That sick of feeling sick of feeling tired of being tired of sick of feeling tired of feeling sick.

view-master reel:
domestic violent sister
suicidal mom
physically and emotionally absent dad
being the middle-man, “golden child” (comparably at least)
Being depressed, later finding out it was bipolar disorder all along
Mom attempting suicide, blaming my sister and me
Emotionally abusive partner after that ^, a little physical in the end
Not remembering things chronologically in those dark times, like a few years
Having my daughter
Being alone with my daughter because my husband was undocumented
Separating long-distance from said husband
Bringing said husband back with green card
Being a single mother on government assistance until “back on my feet”
Found the man of my dreams~
Have seizure-like episodes
Go to hospital for a few days because episodes
Episodes said to be seizure-like migraines (like how there are stroke-like migraines I guess)
Decided to blog

Things that I imagine that also go through people’s head:
so many have it far more worse (fact)
but doesn’t make my problems less real (true)
maybe others can relate (hopefully)
I guess cathartic to write about
I could write a book with the shit I’ve been through (not really because not that interesting and I don’t have the memory to or the conviction)
Lists are easy